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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24788611">Penance</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ourcrashdownblue/pseuds/ourcrashdownblue'>ourcrashdownblue</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Castiel and Dean Winchester and Sam Winchester are Jack Kline's Parents, Crying Jack Kline, Dean Winchester Needs to Use Actual Words, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s15e13 Coda, Happy-ish at least, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Jack Kline Needs A Hug, Jack Kline Whump, Post-Episode: s15e13 Destiny's Child</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-20 07:21:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,592</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24788611</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ourcrashdownblue/pseuds/ourcrashdownblue</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack doesn't know what to do with all the guilt inside him.  Now that he has his soul back, he doesn't know if his fathers can--or should--forgive him for what he did to Mary.  When Dean reacts badly to Jack's plea for forgiveness, Jack finds himself looking for ways to cope.  WWWD?</p><p>Takes place seconds after the ending of episode s15e13: "Destiny's Child".<br/>**Note: the 'Implied/Referenced Self-Harm' tag is due to an thought that Jack has and not because of any actions he actually takes.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Castiel &amp; Jack Kline, Castiel &amp; Jack Kline &amp; Dean Winchester &amp; Sam Winchester, Jack Kline &amp; Dean Winchester, Jack Kline &amp; Mary Winchester, Jack Kline &amp; Sam Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>148</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Penance</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I do not own or reserve any rights for this work of fiction.  I hope you enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><span>The</span> <span>pain wouldn’t go away.  It felt like tiny, razor-sharp teeth were clawing under his rib cage, and a burning hot coal had been planted in his stomach.</span></p><p>
  <span>“I’m going for a drive,” Dean said.  His red-rimmed eyes turned away from Jack’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He can’t even look at me can he?  It hurts him too much. </span>
  </em>
  <span> I</span>
  <em>
    <span> hurt him too much.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack could feel a fresh wave of tears stream down his face as he watched Dean walk out of the kitchen.  His hands raked through his hair, the zap of pain from his nails digging into his scalp was a welcome distraction.  At least that kind of pain was a pain he could deal with.  Not this.  Not the ache he felt pulsing through his bones.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dean!” Cas called out.  When the sound of Dean’s boots continued to fade away, Cas muttered, “I’ll talk to him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Cas’s usually soothing voice did nothing for Jack.  Not today.  The distinct clap of the angel’s dress shoes sounded across the tile floor as he followed after Dean.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack felt large, familiar hands hold tightly to his shoulders.  They squeezed him gently before releasing and falling away.  Somewhere in the background buzzing of his mind Jack heard the clank of the Bunker’s main hatch closing behind his fathers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cas’ll bring him back,” Sam sounded tired and old for his age, “I forgive you Jack, and so will Dean.  Just give him time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack looked up from where he was curled over himself at the kitchen table.  Sam gave him a nod and a small, labored smile as he, too, left the way Cas and Dean had gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack sat alone and listened to the whoosh of blood and the echoes of regret pumping through his ears.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You are destruction incarnate.  Mary cared for you and she died for it.  You only bring suffering.  Dean had been right from the start, and now he knows that his fears have been confirmed.  They will </span>
  </em>
  <span>never </span>
  <em>
    <span>love you again</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack hadn’t moved from his bed in hours.  But what did it matter?  What good was he to anyone even if he did leave his cocoon of used Kleenex and blankets?  He had nothing to offer his fathers--or the world, for that matter--but disappointment and heartbreak.  At least if he stayed locked in his room forever he couldn’t hurt anyone else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he couldn’t stay in his room forever.  By the time the red digits of the clock on the dresser read </span>
  <em>
    <span>3:46 am</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jack’s chapped lips and grumbling stomach begged for his attention.  He had not slept in the time since he’d stumbled out of the empty kitchen and into his room.  His eyes had closed and his consciousness had drifted between jags of crying, but his brain never shut off.  How did normal humans possibly live with this many </span>
  <em>
    <span>emotions</span>
  </em>
  <span> just thrumming through their bodies?  How did they manage to even get out of bed in the morning?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack didn’t want to leave the imaginary safety of his room, but now the pressure in his bladder was also becoming unbearable.  At least Sam and Dean would be asleep still so he wouldn’t have to bear the disgust he knew would be in their eyes.  And though Castiel had knocked on his door at some point in time, Jack had politely asked to be left alone.  If he happened to bump into his father now, hopefully Cas would hold off until morning to try to have any kind of inevitable conversation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His body felt as though his limbs had been replaced with bags of sand as he lifted himself up to sit on the edge of his bed.  His heartbeat thudded in his temples.  As the temporary warmth of the blankets began to dissipate, chills prickled his skin.  He was still wearing his jeans and sneakers from earlier, but he then pulled on a sweatshirt that hung, discarded, on the doorknob of his closet.  The thick, comforting material hung loosely around him.  He looked down at the faded thing and a new lump in his throat choked him when he realized that it was a sweatshirt he had borrowed from Dean sometime ago.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t deserve to wear this.  I don’t deserve the Winchesters’ kindness after what I did to them.  Maybe I never deserved it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulled the sweatshirt and its comfort from his body before folding it neatly.  He clutched it to his chest and welcomed the discomfort of the cold to wrack his body once again.  Even the small penance of being cold seemed like something he owed Mary.  Why should he have comfort when he’d taken Mary’s comforts away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On silent feet, Jack came to stand before Dean’s door and set the folded garment down in front of it.  He walked swiftly away and out of earshot before letting out the quiet whimper that had bubbled up in his throat out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After relieving himself in one of the communal bathrooms,  Jack drifted to the kitchen.  He lifted a hand to the wall and felt his way over to the switch that turned the small lights above the industrial stove on and flipped it, sending the room into a warm glow.  He hoped the lack of lighting would keep him under Castiel’s radar, as the angel was surely occupying his time somewhere in the bunker since he did not sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack quietly squeaked open the kitchen’s cabinets and grabbed a glass for water and filled it in the sink.  He sighed as the cool liquid was absorbed in his dry throat.  He filled and drank two more glasses before he felt another grumble roll through his stomach.  Though goosebumps still pebbled his skin, he was no longer shivering as he opened the pantry doors and scanned the shelves.  His eyes raked over countless boxes, their usually colorful packaging only seemed dull and shadowy in the stove’s lights.  His eyes fell on the stack of three candy bars in the corner, they were his favorite kind and his stomach called out for their sweetness.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Who do you think you are? Murderers deserve no candy.  Murderers deserve no sweetness.  No nougat.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack instead reached for the box of soup crackers on the top shelf.  Bland and nearly flavorless.  These are what he deserved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he removed the box, the glint of glass beside it caught his eye.  It was a mostly clear bottle with bright red letters labeling it ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>Smirnoff </span>
  </em>
  <span>’.  Ah, that was vodka, if Jack remembered correctly.  Jack tucked the box of crackers under his arm and stared at the bottle, tilting his head slightly.  A memory flashed in Jack’s mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Sam and Dean are the best men I know.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“So, ergo, whenever you don’t want them to worry, just think: W-W-W-D.  What would the Winchesters do?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I can do that.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>What would the Winchesters do?  Whenever Sam and Dean had experienced any kind of trauma that would’ve been crippling to the average human, they drank.  And they drank </span>
  <em>
    <span>a lot</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  Copious amounts of alcohol, in fact.  At least Dean did.  Dean who was strong and brave and who had trusted Jack.  Dean who had had his mother taken from him twice.  Once at Jack’s own hand. Dean who Jack loved and who would never love him back ever again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack reached for the bottle and closed the pantry door.  Yes, this is what the Winchesters had done in the past when faced with the painful realities of the lives they lived.  It had scrubbed the pain from their hearts before, and now it would do so for Jack.  It had to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack quietly snuck his selections back to his room, lest Castiel decided to go to the kitchen, and gently closed the door behind him.  He turned the lamp on and set the box and bottle on the lip of the sink beside his dresser.  He unscrewed the cap and the sharp scent of the alcohol stung his nostrils.  Though he knew Dean must’ve drunken this spirit before since the bottle was half empty, Jack realized he’d never actually seen </span>
  <em>
    <span>how</span>
  </em>
  <span> exactly Dean imbibed his vodka.  Jack stared at the open container for a few moments, glancing at his pathetic reflection in the mirror, silently munching on a cracker as he contemplated it.  Well, Dean probably just drank it from the bottle like a beer, right?  Or maybe he poured it into those pretty glasses, like when he and Cas sat and enjoyed one another’s company.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Since Jack didn’t have pretty glasses, it looked like he'd have to drink it straight from the bottle.  The bitter scent reminded him of the alcohol Sam used to clean out his wounds once on a hunt.  He scrunched his nose.  How did humans consume such things?  Maybe they were all as desperate for its potential for mind-numbing relief as the Winchesters were?  As desperate as he was now.  He brought the lip of the bottle to his mouth, breathing in the sterile smell.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>3...2...1…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Fire burned through Jack’s senses as the liquid hit the back of his throat.  His breath punched out of his chest as he sputtered the majority of the vodka into the sink below.  He tried to hush his coughing as best he could, in case the angel was anywhere nearby.  When the burn of the alcohol slowly started to ebb away, Jack’s watering eyes found his reflection once again.  Though the horrid taste permeated his senses, his breathing came back to normal.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You can’t even do this right, can you, nephilim, </span>
  </em>
  <span>his mind taunted.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is what the Winchesters would do, and Jack was going to do it too.  Jack downed another cracker before picking up the bottle again.  He clenched his hand on the sink and braced himself for the pain.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Pain you deserve.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The new wave of flames that tore through his mouth and down his throat</span>
  <em>
    <span> hurt</span>
  </em>
  <span>--but he persisted.  He pushed down every bodily instinct telling him to spit out the foul liquid and swallowed.  He gritted his teeth as he felt the burn and sting as it traveled down to his stomach.  He threw back another agonizing gulp and revelled in the physical pain that lit his being on fire.  Now this was pain he could handle.  Pain as penance.  Had Mary been in any pain?  Was Mary in Hell?  Maybe she was being tortured right this moment.  Maybe her soul was being torn apart by meat hooks and clawed through by hellhounds this very second as Jack stood in the safety and comfort of the bunker--a hallway away from Mary Winchester’s sons.  He should be the one being torn and clawed through.  He downed another hit of the liquid lightning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A wave of dizziness hit Jack ‘like a freight train’--as Dean would’ve said--and had him grasping onto the sink with both hands, letting the bottle lean upright in the bottom of the sink.  He felt light-headed and warm all over.  Though a part of him had worried that his grace wouldn’t allow the alcohol to affect him, he clearly had had no reason to worry.  Apparently his dehydrated, hungry, human body was taking to the alcohol coursing through veins quite well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stared into his own pale, lifeless eyes, losing all sense of time as he stood and swayed in front of the sink.  Again, what did time matter to him?  Cas had said it himself, to beings like him and Jack time was almost meaningless. The thought of living with the knowledge of Mary’s death for eternity had fresh tears stinging his eyes.  Could he even do it?  Could he go on for another week with his stomach and heart this twisted up?  Let alone eternity.  Maybe Jack was meaningless to time, and not the other way around.  Time would continue without him, after all,  putting more and more years between him and the happiness he had felt when he had had his original soul.  Back when he and his family had game nights together, when they’d shared pizza and movies and warmth with one another.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But that was gone now.  And it was his fault.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His face was a sickly grey.  He was an ugly being.  Monstrous, actually.  How had he never noticed before?  This was the last thing Mary Winchester saw.  Jack’s own face, twisted in anger, eyes that unholy yellow.  Not only had she seen this hideous, abomination he wore right before he decimated her body, but he had even deprived Mary of saying goodbye to the people she loved.  She would never be able to hug her boys one last time.  Jack had taken that from her, from Sam and Dean.  How could he ever expect his fathers to look at, let alone love, the face that had taken their mother from them?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And that’s not even the first mother you’ve killed, now is it, nephilim?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack’s fist was colliding with the mirror before he even realized he wanted to destroy his reflection.  Shards fell into the sink and down to the floor, but Jack barely saw through his tear-blurred eyes.  His body wracked with an onslaught of sobs.  Quaking in his skin as hot tears fell, Jack leaned his unsteady body against the wall.  His whole being shaking in the overwhelming tide of sensations and emotions ripping through him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hand didn’t even hurt.  Why didn’t his hand hurt?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A shard of the glass seemed to almost twinkle through the blur of his eyes.  It had a smear of blood on its edge, and Jack finally noticed that he did indeed have a cut on the back of his hand.  One shaky hand stretched out and grabbed the triangular shard, and though his depth perception was off and it took a few tries, he eventually clutched it in his fist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A strange idea occurred to him.  If pain helped quiet his mind, if only for a moment, well maybe...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt the thumping of bare feet and dress shoes charging down the hallway towards his room before he even pieced together that, perhaps, loud noises like shattering glass might spring the seasoned hunters into action.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jack?!” Cas and Dean’s voices bellowed in unison, but it was Sam who threw his bedroom door open.  All three nearly ran into each other to enter the room, pistols and blades at the ready. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both the hunters were clad in flannel pajama pants, their skin still flushed from sleep.  When their eyes fell on broken glass they flinched and took an automatic step back with their socked feet.  When a cursory sweep of the room showed no intruder, just Jack, they safety-ed their weapons and let them fall to their sides.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack did not meet the three sets of wide eyes that bore into him now.  He couldn’t.  He was sure that he would not be able to bear what he would, no doubt, find in their gaze.  He stared at the piece of bloody glass in his hand instead.  His grip tightened around it until a sharp sting and warm trickle told him that he’d created a brand new cut in his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jack?  What’s wrong?”  Cas’s voice boomed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack tried to push himself away from the wall but his arms weren’t as steady as he was used to and he nearly toppled to the ground.  He saved himself by stumbling back and bracing against his dresser.  His head swam, but was clearer than it had been a few minutes ago.  Perhaps his grace </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>starting to work against the vodka after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the hell is going on, kid?” Dean’s voice was stern, but even in his drunken haze Jack could hear that it was laced with panic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-uh, well, Smirnoff, I guess,”  Why did his own voice sound so warbled?  Dean never sounded warbled when he drank.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Smirnoff</span>
  </em>
  <span>?  Wha--” Sam began, but all of their eyes seemed to fall on the red-lettered bottle in the sink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hot shame began to bubble in Jack’s stomach and he couldn’t even place its source.  He had failed them yet again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You drank alcohol?”  Cas’s voice seemed to attack Jack’s brain from every possible angle and he winced.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>loaded</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”  Dean seemed to hit a similar pitch, “Where did you even get this crap?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anger started to boil up in Jack’s stomach.  It felt good.  He had been angry before, anger was familiar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where d-do you</span>
  <em>
    <span> think</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Jack spat back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean’s head reared back at the boy’s tone.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Excuse me</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What could’ve </span>
  <em>
    <span>possessed </span>
  </em>
  <span>you to do such a thing, Jack?”  Cas demanded.  The veins in his neck bulged, and the ex-soldier of God stood as though he were facing off with a monster--not his own son.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack allowed his anger to smother the shame that was fast approaching a peak.  Why was Cas asking him such stupid questions?  Did he wish to make Jack feel more guilty by making him admit his sins aloud?  As though his memories and regrets weren’t doing enough damage simply trapped inside his own head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know </span>
  <em>
    <span>damn</span>
  </em>
  <span> well why, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Cas</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Now it was Cas’s turn to look affronted.  The angel arched a brow at that and his jaw tightened impossibly farther, “I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>dealing</span>
  </em>
  <span>, alright?  Just leave me to deal in peace.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack’s foggy brain patted him on the back for sounding very Winchester-y in his word choice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The three all exchanged wide-eyed glances before turning back to Jack with even more panicked expressions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wouldn’t've pegged the kid as a mean drunk, but, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jesus</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Dean muttered.  Sam hit Dean in the shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jack, just--uh, just tell us what’s going on,” Sam raised a hand in front of Dean and Cas, as though either could be placated at this point.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“W-W-W-D.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack swayed a little and subsequently dropped the bloody shard to the ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>W-W-W-D</span>
  </em>
  <span>?  The hell’s that mean?” Dean barked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The prophet, h-he said that,” Jack nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Jack said nothing more Dean threw his hands up in the air and rolled his eyes.  Sam shot him a look before turning sympathetic eyes back to Jack.  How could Sam still look at him with such understanding?  Jack’s heart clenched and he averted his gaze to the glass-covered floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jack?  Can you please elaborate?” Sam said softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I--When Dean took me t-to see Dona-Dona…” Jack’s brow furrowed, the word felt like peanut butter in his mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Donatello...?” Sam supplied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes! Dona-Dona...he told me that whenever I needed to ‘blend’,” Jack used his air quotes for that one, “th-that I should think: W-W-W-D.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And…?  What does that even mean?!” Dean yelled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What would the W-Winchesters do?” Jack grumbled.  The woozy feeling that seemed to soak his bones was most definitely being ebbed away by his grace now.  And he could feel all that pain was simmering just below the surface.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh…” Dean’s mouth opened and shut without any words escaping.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack ventured a shaky step closer, he wanted...well, he wanted to be held.  It was a stupid, selfish want, he knew.  Especially after all he’d done.  Besides, Winchesters didn’t hug ‘like friggin’ girls’,  but Jack’s skin was itching with the need to be touched, to feel small with Sam’s arms wrapped around him, or to feel Cas’s stubble prickle against his cheek when his father held him close.  The small distance he removed between them did little to ease that itch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jack…” Jack didn’t even need to turn his eyes to his trenchcoat-clad father, the sadness was crystal clear on its own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,”  All the fire had gone out of Dean’s voice, “you drank straight vodka?  ‘Cause that’s what you thought we would do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Each of Dean’s words felt like a dart of pity piercing his flesh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you?” Of course this is what Dean would do when he felt overwhelmed.  He’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>seen</span>
  </em>
  <span> it.  Dean didn’t talk, he drank.  So that’s what Jack would do. Dean shook his head and looked away, but Jack could see him biting his lip.  A bolt of anger surged through Jack out of nowhere.  Why was Dean disappointed in him for this?  Was this not what Jack saw him do all the time?  How else was he supposed to even breathe when the guilt was crushing his chest?  What choice did he have?  If Jack was not to be forgiven, what did Dean even care?  Why did he even bother to come to Jack’s aide at all?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kid…” Dean swiped a hand over his face.  His father’s tired green eyes smothered any shocks of anger.  Of course Dean was disappointed in him.  When was he ever not?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I...I just want to feel...nothing again,” Jack’s voice cracked, “You n-never feel bad after </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>drink...I wanted that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You did not need to...imbibe to deal with your emotions,” Cas’s voice was thick and choked.  When Jack dared to look at the angel he felt sick to his stomach.  Cas’s face was no longer tight with anger...just heartbreak, “You could’ve talked to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Failure. Failure. Failure.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack rested his hip against the sink; that itch had become a physical ache.  What he would not give for the comfort he didn’t deserve.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To what end, Castiel?” Jack muttered, “I have caused you so much suffering,  I have caused </span>
  <em>
    <span>all </span>
  </em>
  <span>of you so much grief.  Haven’t I done everything to deserve all of the pain inside of me?  Nothing you say...will bring her back, Cas.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack wrapped his arms around himself as the ache became unbearable.  His throat stung and his lungs heaved as he tried to hold a sob in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This isn’t the answer,” Sam’s words crackled and his eyes were red-rimmed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then what is, S-Sam?  Please!  Tell me, what do I do?!” Jack’ body rattled as the sob broke through his barricades and spilled out of him, “The pain...it won’t go away,” Jack turned to Cas and thumped his hand on his chest, over his heart, “I just--I just want it to go away, Cas.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span>, make it go away.  I can’t bring her back!   I can’t!  I don’t know why I was even so angry!  I didn’t want to hurt her, I never wanted to hurt her!  I loved her...s-so much. I wanna die so she can come back--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack hadn’t even realized he’d been stumbling closer to his fathers until he felt the heat radiating off of their bodies.  His body begged for their comfort, screamed for it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“ </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jack</span>
  </em>
  <span> ,” Cas’s voice was tight and trembling like a tightrope, “I forget sometimes, son, that you are still a child.  This must still be so new to you.  Forgive me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No!  I’m making it worse!  I am hurting Cas so much he thinks he has to ask for my forgiveness!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack shook his head violently, but the sudden movement  pitched him forward and Dean’s arms came out and held him up by his shoulders.  He turned his red, raw eyes to Dean.  He held onto the hunter’s t-shirt in his clammy hands as if it were a parachute that could stop him from falling into some deep, dark crack he might never crawl out of.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My whole body hurts, Dean, please just-just make a deal with a demon of something. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Me for Mary.  Me for Mary. Dean, please!  It’s the way things should be--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jack,” Dean’s words were a gravelly gust of air against his face, and Jack’s knees gave out from under him.  It was amazing how this body that could destroy worlds with a snap of his fingers could also crumble in on itself just as easily.  His head fell into his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I miss Mary,” Jack’s voice was little more than a whisper, but the old concrete walls seemed to echo with it, “Why didn’t you just kill me when you had the chance?  I know you don’t love me.  I understand why now.  You should’ve done it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was suddenly being lifted, like a rag doll, and he caved into the warmth of Dean’s chest.  Strong arms kept him firmly pressed against his father.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“C’mere, kid,” Jack felt as though the air in his lungs was knocked out of him from the rush of relief that flooded him, his weary brain singing as the comfort rippled through him.  He could feel new tears spring to his eyes, like a pressure valve for the weight in his chest had been released, “I forgive you, okay?  Of course I forgive you, Jack, I--, dammit, I shoulda just said it.  In the kitchen, I’m sorry and I shoulda just said it.  Cas’s right, I forget that you’re just a kid and you didn’t ask for none of this.  I know it was an accident, and...I’m sure Mom knows, too.  She loved ya, Jack.  And...I love you too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack felt boneless in Dean’s arms, but that didn’t seem to stop the hunter from holding him right where he was.  He couldn’t form the words to express his gratitude.  He was utterly breathless from it.  So he gave up and just let himself be held.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Mary loved me.  Dean loves me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack kept his head tucked against the hunter’s shoulder and just let himself feel.  He didn’t even realize he had squeezed his eyes shut until he opened them to see Cas.  The angel had a small smile playing at his lips and ‘puppy eyes’ holding his son’s gaze.  He slowly reached out two fingers and rested them on the boy’s forehead.  Jack leaned into the touch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instantly, grace flowed like cool water through his veins, flushing the alcohol from his system.  The clouds drifted from his brain, his thoughts seeming to re-file themselves in an instant.  The last thing, though he wasn’t sure if he imagined it or not, was the feel of lips pressing to his hair before Dean was helping him right himself and stand up on his own.  The hunter kept a steady grip on Jack’s shoulders as he took his weight back onto his own feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How do you feel?” Sam said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clear,” Jack whispered, shame coloring his cheeks, “I...I apologize for my behavior.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lowered his gaze to the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ve all been there, kid,” Dean said, patting his shoulders once more before releasing him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rest now, Jack,” Cas’s voice was soothing, a gentle balm, “I believe you </span>
  <em>
    <span>all </span>
  </em>
  <span>could use some rest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With shoulders slumped, and looking even more exhausted than they had when they’d been torn from their sleep, Sam and Dean began to follow out of the room at Cas’s raised eyebrow.  Dean was the last of the brothers to exit.  He threw Jack a wink coupled with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes before disappearing into the hallway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jack--” Cas turned to the boy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Forgive me, Castiel.  I promise it won’t happen--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is alright now,”  Cas brought a warm palm to Jack’s cheek, swiping at the tear he hadn’t even realized had fallen.  The touch blasted Jack with the memory of Cas cupping his face when he came to bring Jack home from his mother’s Heaven.  Cas’s palm wound back to loosely grip the back of Jack’s neck.  He tipped their foreheads together.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You are worthy. You are beloved.  You are my kin. I love you, Jack.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack’s mind echoed with the prayer Cas was sending him.  Jack felt a calming breath return to his lungs, and the burning ache for a loving touch dissolved. For this precious moment, his father’s prayer--his father’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>unconditional love</span>
  </em>
  <span>--was enough to drown out the voices in his head.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you so much for reading!  Kudos and comments are always appreciated!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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